The White Ribbon
by JaimeBlue
Summary: Tim O'Neill visits family in Montreal on a very solemn day


The White Ribbon

**Disclaimer:** The characters don't belong to me. I just wrote the story. 

**Author's Note:** Some of this story has been written in French. Where that is the case, English translations have been provided in bold brackets. The White Ribbon Tim O'Neill looked out the hotel window, gazing upon the snow that fell lightly upon the ground. People rushed below wrapped in gloves and scarves. However, on this day, even the most enthusiastic passerby had a serious look upon their face. 

He sighed, turning away from the window to adjust his dress uniform and checking himself yet again in the mirror. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When the crew of seaQuest had been told it would stop at the port in Halifax in early December, Tim had been ecstatic at the chance to visit some of his mother's family in Montreal. However, this day was as solemn an occasion to his family as it had been every year for the last thirty years. 

He reached onto the dresser and retrieved the final piece of his outfit -- a lone white ribbon -- and affixed it to the left breast of his uniform. 

He started at the knock on the door, but he knew it was just his aunt. Adjusting his hat one final time, he opened the door. 

"Ah, mon cher, l'uniforme te fait du bien." **[Oh, my dear, the uniform suits you.]**

"Merci, Matante." **[Thank you, Auntie.]**

Tim held out his arm for his aunt to take, and allowed the elder woman to lead him out of the hotel and onto the streets of Montreal. 

They only stopped once at a small flower shop to purchase a single white rose before they finally stopped, settling in among the crowd that had gathered before the aging brick building. 

"Mon petit, je t'ai déja parlé de Maryse, ouais?" Tim nodded. "Elle était si jeune, si pleine d'espoir. Je l'attendais ce jour la. Elle était si excité. On était pour aller voir un filme après qu'elle était retournée de l'école." **[My little one, I've spoken about Maryse before, yes?... She was so young, so full of hope. I was waiting for her that day. She had been so excited. We were to go see a movie after she'd returned from school.]**

Tim felt his aunt shudder beside him and placed an arm over her shoulders, lending her his support and his comfort. 

"Et quand elle ne m'a pas appelé, j'était un p'tit peu fâché, pensant qu'elle m'avait lâché pour un chum. Mais quand je me suis assise devant la télé... et..." **[And when she didn't call me, I was a little mad at her, thinking she'd ditched me for some cute boy. But when I sat before the TV... and...]**

Tim held the older woman tighter as she threatened to break down into sobs. "Tu n'avais aucune façon de savoir qu'est-ce qui était arrivé, Matante." **[You had no way of knowing what had happened, Auntie.]**

"Je sais, mon cher. Je sais. Mais c'est quand-meme difficile de m'en souvenir." **[I know, my dear. I know. But it's still difficult to remember.]**

The solemn pair looked up at the squeal of a microphone being tested. There was a small podium before the doors to the old brick building and a woman the age of Tim`s aunt was adjusting the microphone. The crowd quieted as she began to speak. 

"Merci pour avoir venu aujourd'hui, le 6 décembre. Ça fait trente ans aujourd'hui qu'un homme est entré dans cette édifice, l'École Polytechnique de Montréal, pour commettre la meurtre. Quatorze jeunes femmes sont mort ce jour la..." **[Thank you for coming today, the 6th of December. It was thirty years ago today that a man entered this building, the École Polytechnique in Montreal, to commit murder. Fourteen women died that day...]**

Tim no longer heard the words the woman spoke, but instead was lost in a flood of memories: memories of his aunt talking about her friend Maryse who had been murdered that fateful day, memories of the looks upon the faces of the women in his family whenever they thought of what had happened... He'd been raised to respect and appreciate men and women alike and failed to understand what could motivate this crime that had happened before his own birth. 

Once the speech was over, Tim led his aunt over to the building where she laid the single white rose. He remained by her side as she spoke with some of the other people who had known the women who had died, and when the older woman grew weary, he escorted her home.   
  


* * *   
  


Tim stretched one final time as the taxi approached the dock. Gathering his bags, Tim paid the driver and made his way to the ship. He couldn't keep the smile from his face when he saw a familiar figure waving to him. His steps unconsciously grew faster until he could see the face smiling back at him. 

"How was the trip?" 

"It was ok. I'm glad to be back, though." 

The two men made their way into the submarine and towards Tim's room. 

"I thought so. I really wanted to come with you." 

"I know, Mig, but I had to make this trip myself. You understand, don't you?" 

The cuban's smiling face nodded. "Yeah, I guess. You'll tell me all about it some day, won't you?" 

Tim nodded. Once the door to his quarters were shut tightly behind them, the usually neat Tim threw his bags onto the bunk and himself into Miguel Ortiz's arms. 

Miguel worried for several moments. It wasn't unusual for his lover to fall into his arms in a fit of passion. However, there was no passion in this embrace, only the need to be comforted. He held onto the commtech tightly as a small shudder passed through his body. 

"It's all right, Tim. I'm here." 

Somehow, Tim's grip grew even tighter. "Any day..." he whispered. 

"What did you say, Tim?" 

The commtech pulled away from his lover slightly. "Any day something could happen, you know? One day you're here with me, and the next..." 

Miguel pulled Tim in tighter. "Yeah, things happen. But no matter what, I'll always be here with you. If not in body, than in spirit." 

Tim nodded against Miguel's shoulder, then pulled back to gaze at his lover, memorizing the details of his face. Their lips met in a soft kiss filled with love and comfort. Miguel reluctantly ended the kiss, feeling how weak his lover was in his arms. 

"You haven't had much sleep, have you." Tim nodded in affirmation and Miguel grabbed the bags on the bed, tossing them onto the floor. He led the commtech to the bed, then laid down, pulling the man down into his arms. Only moments later, he turned off the light and began placing gentle kisses on his lover's neck. 

The last things Tim was conscious of as he fell asleep was the feel of his lover wrapped around him, as well as the love that radiated from the man's soul.   
  


The End   
  


**On December 6, 1989, a man entered the Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal with a gun. He entered a classroom, separated the women from the men, and proceded to blame the women for the ills of the world. He finished off by murdering 14 of the women.**

**Every December 6, Canadians take a moment to remember what happened, to remind ourselves that as long as violence against women still exists in the world, then our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, cousins and aunts are all at risk of a similar fate.**

**Furthermore, we are reminded that it is the mindless hatred and prejudice of such people that is the root of such incidents.**

**On this day, a white ribbon is worn to commemorate the deaths of those 14 women, to remember them and every woman who has ever suffered for the simple crime of being born female.**


End file.
